The Cattie Sits in the Kiln-Ring Spinning

THE CATTIE SITS IN THE KILN-RING SPINNING. 1

THE cattie sits in the kiln-ring,
Spinning, spinning;
And by came a little wee mousie,
Rinning, rinning.

Oh, what's that you're spinning, my loesome,
Loesome lady?"

p. 76

"I'm spinning a sark 1 to my young son,"
Said she, said she.

"Weel mot he brook it, my loesome,
Loesome lady."
"Gif he dinna brook it weel, he may brook it ill,"
Said she, said she.

"I soopit 2 my house, my loesome,
Loesome lady."
"'Twas a sign ye didna sit amang dirt then,"
Said she, said she.

"I fand twall pennies, my winsome,
Winsome lady."
"'Twas a sign ye warna sillerless, 3
Said she, said she.

"I gaed to the market, my loesome,
Loesome lady."
"'Twas a sign ye didna sit at hame then,"
Said she, said she.

"I coft 4 a sheepie's head, my winsome,
Winsome lady."
"'Twas a sign ye warna kitchenless,"
Said she, said she.

"I put it in my pottie to boil, my loesome,
Loesome lady."

p. 77

[paragraph continues] "'Twas a sign ye didna eat it raw,"
Said she, said she.

"I put it in my winnock 1 to cool, my winsome,
Winsome lady."
"'Twas a sign ye didna burn your chafts 2 then,"
Said she, said she.

"By came a cattie, and ate it a' up, my loesome,
Loesome lady."
"And sae will I you--worrie, worrie--gnash, gnash,"
Said she, said she.

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